The picture in the window frame
Reflects my frame of mind
Branches jagged, desolate
On trees weary and worn
Leafless, flowerless, powerless
Beaten down by winter's chill
So too a tired soul wishes to become
Producing nothing, expecting no one
No more than a tragic backdrop
Yet more is seen through smudgy panes
The sky both clear and blue
Birds flitting from branch to branch
Giving purpose to the deadened wood
The sun shines through, the storms long gone
No cloud can cast a shadow
Spring is coming, its fanfare is heard
Its banners in the distance, gleaming
Soon the trees will bloom again
The soul will rise again
And the new picture will be that of a smile
